One hundred years
by Pericula Ludus
Summary: One hundred years after the Battle of the Five Armies the last survivors commemorate the event.


One hundred years.

A century had passed since the Battle of the Five Armies. Few dwarves now were left of those who had fought that day. The men had died long ago, in accordance with the short span of their years. Few of the elves remained now in Middle Earth and mortals did not usually know the ways of the eagles. So it fell to the Khazad to commemorate the day.

The crowd that had gathered in the vaults of Erebor was small. A greater war had come and gone, a greater battle had been fought. The memory of the forces of Gwaihir, Thranduil and Bard, of Dáin Ironfoot and Thorin Oakenshield was fading, their deeds seemingly of little relevance compared to the War of the Ring.

Of Thorin's company, only three remained. They stood their vigil at the graves of three others that had travelled East with them in 2941. The vault was dark, except for a single candle that they had lit at the exact time of the start of the battle. A single candle to illuminate the darkness. A single candle to accentuate the darkness.

For hours they remained in front of the stone tombs. Hours that all those years ago they had spent fighting and killing, attacking and defending, taking lives and clinging to their own. All three of them had now entered the third century of their lives. They were old. None of them would pick up sword or axe again. Nori stood with his face turned towards the candle even though he could not see it. His world was now one of continuous darkness, as he had lost not only his brothers but also his eyesight. Bofur had struggled to make his way down to the tombs at all, the leg he had lost all those years ago giving him more and more trouble with age. He sat on a stone bench, eyes fixed on the spot where they had buried Thorin and his nephews Fíli and Kíli. Dwalin was the oldest of them all, his hair now as white as Balin's had been, but he stood tall in the centre of their small group, hardly moving a muscle.

During the long hours of their vigil, others had come and gone, paying their respects in whispered prayers to Mahal or with stones placed on the tombs. Neither one of the three old warriors moved. They needed no distraction to pass the time for in their minds were scenes of the battle from so long ago. The passage of time had dulled the pain that used to accompany those images and had made them forget many of the details, but the most vivid memories remained. Dodging a blow. Receiving a wound. Saving a brother. Losing a king.

They had been told that they were heroes, but they had never felt like they were. Too much had been lost on that day. In their minds, their triumph would forever be marred by the death of so many. Their victory was also diminished by the resurgence of evil so soon after the battle in which all the free people of Middle Earth, even including one of the hobbits from the Shire, had united with the sole purpose of banishing it. Despite their efforts, despite the battle to end all battles, the world had been plunged into darkness.

They had put their popularity and their riches to good use. For decades the three of them had worked tirelessly to create a better future for everyone in Erebor. While the darkness than enveloped the world at large might be beyond their control, there were evils closer at hand that were not. Fatherless children, poor families and those with a criminal record were the groups that they worked with. Some of their protégés had helped Dwalin with the design and the completion of the candlestick that now carried the large candle whose light flickered on the walls of the vault. Its three legs were fashioned in the likeness of swords, the handles resting on the ground while the blades reached upwards. The three swords had been made to resemble those of the three who rested here. Sketches that Ori had made of the swords of Thorin, Fíli and Kíli had been used for the design. The tips of the blades intertwined to carry the candle. At least here weapons led to light in the darkness.

As the time drew near for the end of the vigil, the time when a hundred years ago the battle had ended, more and more dwarves assembled in the vaults. Most of those in attendance were old, the ones who had memories if not of the battle itself at least of the resettlement of Erebor that followed.

Prayers were said and speeches were given. At last, the great bell began to toll. One hundred times it was struck, once for each of the intervening years. As the hundredth tone echoed through the vaults, Dwalin stepped forwards and blew out the single flame.

The vaults were now cast into complete darkness and the crowd stood silently as the old warrior turned and stood with Bofur and Nori on either side of him. With a strong, sonorous voice that belied his age he said:

"There may never be a just battle, nor a perfect peace. Our deeds may seem insignificant after all these years, but do not forget those who fought in the Battle of the Five Armies. Do not forget those who risked everything to ensure the freedom of many who they had never met. Do not forget those who sacrificed their health and their lives so there would still be something worth fighting for when the time came to defend ourselves again."

The crowd was silent for a moment before a consistent murmuring started. The three old warriors bowed low to the graves of their three fallen companions, then stood and pressed their foreheads together. It was again Dwalin who spoke, softly this time so only Bofur and Nori could hear.

"For a hundred years we have remembered this battle. It has caused much hurt, but it has also inspired great good. We will soon come to the end of our paths and then it will be down to others to keep the legacy of this battle alive. May the stories remember us kindly."

* * *

**_At 11pm on the 4th of August 1914, Great Britain and Germany entered a state of war. The "war to end all wars" famously did not achieve that goal and is often overshadowed by the even greater war that followed on its heals . I'm probably among the youngest who still got to talk to people who lived through the First World War. As I attended a commemoration tonight, I was looking at poppies, listening to a multitude of bells and watched a solitary candle being lit. That simple, but powerful gesture really touched me and made me appreciate the freedom we experience now on the 4th of August 2014._**


End file.
